


Transcribing Horticulture

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, Bondage, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Drinking, F/M, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Frottage, Gardens & Gardening, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Matchmaking, Orgasm Control, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sex, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: Aziraphale is assigned as a scribe to the Head Gardner of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, but the Head Priestess who assigned him there has more in mind than that.  She is looking for a marriageable suitor for said Head Gardener.  Imagine his surprise when he finds out that happens to be Crawly, who has been hiding out from Hell in the Gardens.My piece from "Love and Lust Through the Ages Vol. II".
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57
Collections: Love and Lust Through the Ages Volume II





	Transcribing Horticulture

The sun was rising on the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Crawly was working in one of the terraces with some vines suspended over the sides. They were young and in need of training on the arches beneath them to become one of the features that gave the Gardens their name. Currently, she was dangling dangerously over the terrace, tying leather thongs on which the plants would be encouraged to grow down until such time as they developed spurs to cling to the wall itself. It was work others feared, but Crawly didn’t because of her very nature. A fall wasn’t anything she couldn’t correct with a miracle.

“Blessed One! We request your presence, please.”

Crawly looked down from her dizzying height to see a pair waiting for her at the entrance. Sighing heavily, she abandoned her work, descending to see what they wanted. Sweeping into the area where they patiently waited, she looked at the head priestess from the temple, dressed in a fine long tunic, her bun held by decorative hairpins, the rare gemstones showing her rank. Crawly’s black tunic wasn’t as fine, being one she wore for work and rather dirty after a day spent among the plants, but she had ones as rich as the priestess’ stored away for the rare formal occasion. Beside the priestess stood a blond-haired angelic scribe in a knee-length belted blue tunic of rougher material appropriate for his rank.

Crawly cocked an amused eyebrow at her rival as she addressed the woman.

“Yes?”

“We thought you might find a scribe useful to record gardening knowledge.”

“Umm, I can just teach people, really.”

“We were also hoping you would find him an acceptable suitor. You still haven’t married.”

“What?” exclaimed Crawly while Aziraphale quietly registered his surprise on his face.

“You will have a trial courtship. I shall empty the Gardens for three days. You’ll appreciate the time alone in such a beautiful place.”

Pleased with herself, the priestess left _sans_ Aziraphale. She had taken Crawly in, seen her talent and brought her here, thus expected Crawly to settle down and start a family as tradition demanded. For the Blessed One to bear children who might also carry the favour of their serpent god would be an honour for the Gardens. Especially if they were groomed to inherit her position as Head Gardener. The head priestess dreamed of a magnificent Garden kept by those with the divine knowledge of the god of vegetation — the envy of surrounding kingdoms. It was unfortunate she was pinning her hopes on a member of a species that did not reproduce.

“I’m not marrying anyone!” Crawly shouted at her retreating form. Smiling awkwardly at Aziraphale, she waited until the priestess had disappeared from view before turning to him. “Hello again, angel. Would you like to come in for some wine? They give some of the best of the temple’s tithes to me. I’m sure there’s a vintage you’ll appreciate.”

She led him off inside one of the Garden’s tiers where she lived for now.

“Blessed One?” Aziraphale asked as Crawly lit an oil lamp in the dim room.

They were sitting at a low table with a vessel of fine red wine and a lot of tales between them. Crawly glowered back at him over her cup, shifting impatiently on the straw mat she sat upon.

“Not my fault! They noticed my eyes and believed me blessed by their serpent god of vegetation. I let them believe it because they opened their arms to me and allowed me to work with their plants. The Gardens are a wonderful break from missions, except for the constant nagging about marriage.”

The haunted look in her eyes made him refrain from asking her what Hell had had her doing. It obviously wasn’t pleasant. Instead, he cupped a plump hand against her cheek to gently stroke it, smiling at her when her eyes no longer showed darkness. She smiled back at him with the realization of how much she had missed his company.

“I’ll help how I can, but you know it’s dangerous for me to stay too long. One of our sides might find out.”

She raised her hand to cover his, both enjoying the brief intimate touch before they returned to their wine. When Crawly deemed the Gardens empty, she invited him out to show him what she had accomplished here. Together they wandered the terraces hand-in-hand, Crawly showing off her work with date palms, pomegranates and other fruit-bearing trees, speaking excitedly about them, almost lovingly. Aziraphale found he was no longer able to be cross with her over her masquerade. Instead, he happily walked with her, taking in the various plants she had painstakingly grown, some from seed and some exotic specimens that only she had managed to coax into a thriving plant, to the amazement of the other gardeners.

“I taught them date palms grown from cuttings produce better quality fruit than ones from seedlings.”

“This is from China. It produces what they call ‘plums’. I’m sure I can get it to bloom.”

“You’ll love the flowers on the top terrace. C’mon.”

The upper terrace was a riot of colourful blooms and ornamental trees with vines wrapped around columns made for that purpose. He was in awe of the work she had had a hand in. Demons didn’t create, but here was proof at least one could. Crawly was a surprise at every turn.

“They’re gorgeous. I could stay up here forever.”

She approached him, taking his head in her hands to kiss him passionately, an action he reciprocated enthusiastically. They breathed each other in and tasted the hunger of their partner as tongues darted in and out of mouths, sometimes letting out muffled moans. Crawly had missed this and from Aziraphale’s response, so had he.

“I want you,” she murmured.

“I’m yours.”

“To do with as I wish?”

She had backed him against a vine-covered column, which had given her ideas as she gazed upon the foliage and remembered the leather thongs she employed.

“Yes.”

She knew what he meant – within their prior negotiations. They had long ago hammered out consent when they started this friendship-with-benefits. Respecting that, she ran her fingers through his curly hair as she again covered him in kisses, taking her time to leave them on his cheeks and forehead before meandering to his mouth. She forced it open with her tongue, boldly exploring inside as she tasted him for the first time in a century or so. How she had missed this!

Her fingers tightened in his hair enough so he’d notice, but not enough to cause him any pain. He moaned in response, always liking it when she gently grabbed a hold of his golden curls.

“Mine,” she whispered in his ear.

“Always yours, Crawly.” He had never wanted for another lover and knew she felt the same way.

He ran his own hands through her hair as well, revelling in the long lengths that hung loose, contrary to current fashion. She was never one to bind up its lengths, preferring it to fall freely about her shoulders, occasionally with a small braid. Maybe she would allow him to plait another lovelock in its fiery-coloured lengths. He loved to do so whenever they had the time together to spare and Crawly was never sure if it was an act of adoration, of possession or a combination of both. Deep inside she hoped it was both. She left her own marks of adoration and possession on him, although they were more fleeting. They belonged to each other.

Eventually Crawly let up on the foreplay long enough to lead him to a nearby lounge where he lay down as instructed with his hands above his head. She looked him over, lust in her serpentine eyes while she dangled thick leather thongs before his eyes.

“I like it when you can’t touch me because I know how much it drives you mad.”

“Then tie me. I enjoy it, too.” A good tease always got the old blood flowing.

Swiftly she had his hands wrapped and even quicker had their clothes miracled off them both while he tested his bonds. “If you need to stop, say red.”

She started by scratching along his sides, curving towards his chest, then eventually over his nipples as he moaned. Teasing them with light play, she bent to nibble and kiss them, making Aziraphale writhe in his bonds. Grabbing hold of one, she drew it into her mouth, sucking hard until he moaned throatily then capturing it between her teeth to bite down upon. Hard. Aziraphale jumped within the confines of his bonds. Crawly drank up the physical and verbal reactions which emboldened her. Smiling, she scratched her way downward, finally reaching his cock which she examined momentarily as he panted with longing.

“Should I? Naah. Blowjobs aren’t currently appealing.”

Still, she bent to lick along its length as a teasing reminder of her control of her before moving away. Sitting up, she slid so she was perfectly positioned over him without him being inside her and began to move as she kept up the scratching of his chest. She thrust along the sensitive underside of his cock, spreading her own wetness over him as she teased. Crawly closed her eyes, a groan shuddering through her as he begged her to take him. Instead, it drove her to grind down harder on his cock, putting her full weight on her clit as she dragged it back and forth against him, allowing her climax to build within her until she could hold back no more and it burst forth, ripped a scream from her lungs she swore echoed across the city. Only then did she address him.

“Is this form good enough? You always did like a cock up your arse.”

“I love whatever you’re presenting as, Crawly. Please . . . put me inside you,” he begged.

“When I’m ready. I bet you’re a mess down there now that I’ve used you. One more.”

But it wasn’t. She resumed her teasing of him, using the slickness that had developed to orgasm yet again. He writhed against his bonds as she rubbed, touched, otherwise teased and orgasmed until she screamed herself hoarse before becoming bored with her rubbing. Stopping thoughtfully for a moment, she slid her own fingers up inside her slit, swirling them around to collect her natural lube before pulling them out. Showing her glistening digits to him, she then went lower, tracing them along the crack of his soft, supple arse until coming to his opening. Gently she thrust one finger inside his tightness. Aziraphale groaned to feel her hook it inside him, pressing against erogenous areas, stroking enough to bring him close to orgasm before withdrawing again.

“None of that. I’m not done with you.”

He panted beneath her, eyes wide in frustration at all stimulation being removed, succumbing to begging within seconds before she relented, fetched more lube and this time slid two fingers inside him, stretching them out against his tightness, holding one straight while hooking the other one so she could again torture him with pressure on erotic parts. He yanked on his bonds as he sensed the wonderful feeling of her pressing against the right areas, pleading with her to take him, allow him to climax. Crawly was not ready yet, for all that Aziraphale lay on the lounge burning with the feeling of desire bordering on torture. 

“Shhh, angel.”

She bore down on him, allowing his length inside her as the fullness pressed against her clit, adding to her pleasure. With a moan, she was fully seated on him, rocking in a manner that rubbed everything just perfectly. Beneath her, Aziraphale thrust as best he could, taking what she allowed.

“I want to touch you,” he pleaded, his voice rough with longing.

“Is that red?”

He paused a moment in thought, weighing his immediate desires with his want to please Crawly. 

“No. I can wait.”

They continued; Crawly almost frenzied in her taking of him. She leaned forward now, her intense need evident in the look of rapt concentration on her face. Her serpentine eyes narrowed in her concentration as her nails pierced his collarbones, leaving behind scratch marks not quite deep enough to cause actual injury. Aziraphale now fully experienced the tease of his bonds as feelings in his groin and need to touch her grew stronger. He yanked involuntarily at them, wishing he could reach out to Crawly, even if it meant only caressing her fiery red hair. Her screams reaching a fevered pitch as her hands now gripped his chest, leaving more unintentional scratches. He could sense it now – it wouldn’t be long before everything exploded loose, and he was helpless to stop it.

“Crawly, I’m…”

“Go,” she panted. “Oh! Right there!”

They came in unison, wild, unabated, screaming loudly as if the rest of the city below them had ceased to exist. It didn’t matter. They were supposed to be courting, anyway. They had simply skipped the usual first steps to instead re-enact the traditional wedding night. Nobody would question Crawly’s actions. She was the Blessed One, and right now the Blessed One was reacquainting herself with an old friend but they had had their fun for the moment. Aziraphale’s bonds disappearing before Crawly, spent, nearly fell on his chest. Quickly he grabbed her, lowering her gently on to him to stroke her hair and calm her with soothing nothings whispered until her breathing slowed. She stroked his hair in return, leaving small kisses on his collarbone where her head lay. The red marks surrounding his wrists disappeared with a thought from her as he soothed her back to a calmer state.

Contented, she snuggled in. “This is much better than some scribe following me around.”

“Yes, I agree, although I probably should take notes later. Act the part. I was sent here to bless these Gardens and the city. It is seen as a big step forward in human civilization.”

“Heaven’ll break it later. They seem to feel the need to test everything to destruction. I know my work will not be around forever.” She sounded a little mournful about it.

“Let’s not think about that, my dear. We haven’t seen each other in a century. Let’s enjoy what time we do have.” His lips sought out hers for a passionate kiss.

Nestled in the lounge with the Gardens blooming around them, no humans anywhere near, they lay peacefully recovering until the cooler evening air drove them into Crawly’s quarters. There, Crawly seated herself on her bed with Aziraphale behind her, brushing her hair out with gentle strokes. She sighed, contented as he plaited another small braid on the right side of her head. Finished, he caressed her cheek and she turned to kiss him, happy he had given her that lovelock. They cuddled up together, spooning in the darkness of the bed chamber, content to simply _be_ until the buzz of the busy city tapered off to be replaced by the sounds of the wildlife that surrounded it. Stirring from their shared reverie, they reignited the passion for another round.

  
  



End file.
